


The Showstopper

by Crollalanza



Series: The Cupcake Collection [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, backstory and past relationship between Suga and Oikawa, cake or break prequel/sequel, current established daisuga, fluff and cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: It was a small scar on Suga's wrist, one Daichi hadn't noticed before, an insignificant blemish.But as Suga spins a tale about a past love, a break up, and a competition, he becomes intrigued.Who could have thought baking could be so heartbreaking, and bakers so ruthless?





	

**Author's Note:**

> It was recently the anniversary of me first publishing Cake or Break, so for its cakiversary, I decided to write this story. It is both a prequel and a sequel, as present day Suga relates the tale of a competition he once had at college. 
> 
> This story was heavily inspired by The Great British Bake Off - which I love almost as much as DaiSuga. The contestants in that show are all lovely and supportive, so not quite like the ones here. 
> 
> Finally, I really want to thank Megan (museicaliteacup) for being the best PA I could hope for as she was the one who reminded me about the anniversary (and baked some delicious looking cupcakes). Also thanks to Noemi and Eilidh for cheering me on and generally being wonderful. 
> 
> FINALLY! There was a typo in this which when I decided to keep it in, changed the whole course of the story making it much more playful.

“That’s funny,” Daichi murmured, his lips gracing Suga’s palm, nuzzling his wrist.

“What’s funny?” Suga asked, when Daichi didn’t continue.

His teeth were nipping a little, tongue running over a small patch of skin, which had thickened.

“I’ve never noticed this scar before,” Daichi replied. “We’ve been together six months, and ...” He looked up at Suga, smiling. “I must be very unobservant.”

“I expect you have other things on your mind,” Suga replied lightly, but he withdrew his hand.

“Ouch.” Shifting up the bed, Daichi lay back, the only part of him now touching Suga was his little finger, and that could only be construed as an accident, given that Suga was staring at the ceiling.

He tried again. “Sorry. Is it a sore subject?”

“Hmm?” Suga blinked, and then he turned his head sideways, staring into Daichi’s eyes. They were warm as usual, but a little dazed.

It was an old wound, leading down from the bottom of his palm and to his wrist. Not big, and yet, if it had left a scar, then it had to have been deep. Dread enveloped him like a cloak. Suga had moved in to his apartment two months ago, they had shared so much already, from loss to laughter, and yet there were still many things they didn’t know about each other.

“Forget it, unless you ... uh ... want to talk.”

He knew about the car accident, knew also about the boyfriend who’d dumped him when he was no longer useful. Above all, Daichi knew about Oikawa and the relationship Suga had had with him. It had ended badly, Suga had told him, but they’d been able to salvage their friendship. And Daichi had accepted that without ever questioning the circumstances.

“It’s a long story,” Suga muttered.

“And still painful, right?” Daichi swallowed, hoping the lump in his throat was purely out of sympathy for Suga and not a residual welling of jealousy over a long ago boyfriend.

“The scar? No, not at all.”

“Um ... I meant the memory.”

And then he smiled, soft and small, not at Daichi but at a wisp of something that had gone before. 

“You still look a little sad.”

“Nostalgia, that’s all.” He sighed, but the smile was still there.

Inching his hand over Suga’s, Daichi brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip, not breaking eye contact. “Is this about Tooru?”

“Mmm,” he sighed again, his eyelids drooping and mouth mournfully turned down at the corners. Daichi held his hand tighter, poking gingerly at the feelings inside of him, pleased but surprised to feel the vestiges of jealousy were merely that, and it didn’t hurt at all.  But then a darker thought reoccurred to him, one that made his guts churn at how different this could all have been. Far worse than the accident, because –

“Suga, you didn’t -?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “Were you that cut up when it ended with him?”

“Huh?”  Suga’s thumb began to rub against Daichi’s hand. “Well, yes, I guess I was, but that’s all past now. It doesn’t have any bearing on – OH!” His eyes widened and then flickered as he took in the implications. Daichi heard him stifle a laugh, and then he leant very close and pressed his lips to Daichi’s cheek. “This,” he said, tracing the scar, “was an accident. A dumb accident, with a story behind it, and with the additional moral of concentrating when you’re cooking, _especially_ in a competition.”

“Competition?”

Suga glared. “Yes, Captain, you are not the only person in this bed who’s been up against the cock and trying to win something.”

“Cock?” Daichi smirked, irrepressible chuckles now making him cry. “What sort of competition was this?”

“Stop it!” Suga wailed, then began to giggle, his shoulders shaking. He cleared his throat, making a valiant effort to pull his face straight.  “I’m trying to have a tender moment here.”

Daichi sniggered, not relenting in the slightest now his worst fears had been smashed to pulp, and snuggled up much closer. “Meanwhile the cock you’re currently up against isn’t at all soft and tender!” he leered, and licked his ear.

“Behave!” Suga howled, whacking him away. Then mustering all the dignity he could when he was wearing shrimp festooned pyjamas, he continued. “It reminds me of friendship, and how things that you think are broken, can be mended. And there’s a story there, _if_ you’d care to listen.”

Seeing the glint in Suga’s eye, Daichi hung his head, and attempted to mollify him with chaste peck on his shoulder. “Carry on, Koushi, I’m listening,” he said. But he’d let his hand drop to Suga’s waist, and now his thumb was stroking Suga’s hipbone, sliding into the dip of his waist.

“Maybe it can wait,” Suga murmured, then moaned as Daichi splayed out his hand. “We could try our own competition against the cock.”

 

_________________

 

The first week back of his second year didn’t find Suga in the best of moods. While the blossom in the air drifted in perfectly formed petals (one of the best displays in years, the college receptionist informed him when he picked up his room key)  Suga had never felt less inclined to celebrate this festival for lovers.

It occurred to him then that last year when he’d been happily, ecstatically and swirlingly in love, the blossom had already fallen, sludgy and brown in the grass. He’d had no pink petals removed from his hair with feather soft touches, or swept one off a lover’s cheek.

Last year, they’d found each other just a little too late.

This year there was no one.

Turning away from the window, Suga stared at the unpacked boxes and the suitcase full of clothes. For a moment, he wondered whether to call his dad and ask him to pick him up. He’d chuck the whole thing in, get a job at a local cafe instead, learn while he was there and ...

_Never see him again._

It was tempting, so tempting, to turn tail and run, but the thought of what else he’d lose was uppermost.

 

“Welcome to Year Two!” Takeda-sensei greeted them. His eyes were shining, his hair mussed up and a wide beaming smile wreathed across his face. “It is lovely to see you all for a second year.”

Suga smiled back, it was impossible not to when greeted with that much enthusiasm, and tried to summon up some of his own to get on with the class.  He’d chosen a seat at the front, a deliberate ploy so he could avoid a certain person sitting in the back row’s gaze, that and the rest of the class, who appeared to be spectating a tennis match, flicking their attention between the pair of them.

“We’ll be continuing our culinary adventures, with an emphasis this first half term on cakes and pastries.”

Sitting up a little further in his chair, Suga listened, his interest peaking because cakes were his speciality. From his early years, his memories were aromatic, vanilla rubbed between his fingers, rosewater to flavour the most delicate of icings, the taste of chocolate ganache on his tongue and the lingering warm aroma of a sponge fresh out of the oven.

“And to inject a little bit of fun into this first semester, we are going to try something new.”

“What’s that, sensei?” said a voice from the back.

Takeda grinned at them all, his eyes lingered on Suga, giving him a small wink. “Have you ever heard of a show called _The Great British Bake Off_?”

 

“Koushi!”

Suga hurried on. The voice behind was faint so it was conceivable he hadn’t heard. But as he strode on, the footsteps behind became louder, until it wasn’t just the man’s voice or shoes he could hear but his breath.

“Koushi!”  A hand tapped his shoulder.

He walked on.

_Maybe if I stare blankly and pretend I have no idea who it is, he might believe I’ve suffered from amnesia. I’ll spin a tale about an accident – which would also explain why I haven’t answered any of his texts over the break._

“Sugawara Koushi, if you don’t stop walking, I’m going to shout out comments about your bum all across campus.”

_You wouldn’t dare._

“How your cheeks are like perfect cupcakes. How each time I see them wrapped in those exquisite silk boxer shorts you own, I want to take a bite –”

“ALL RIGHT!”  He turned on his heel, sure his face was flushing. “What do you want, Tooru?”

He looked gorgeous, there was no other word for it. His hair, freshly washed, fell in immaculate waves around his face. Wearing a pale lilac shirt, and a tie half undone to suggest casualness (it was an effect, Suga knew that, and one only Tooru could pull off so effortlessly) he stood with his thumbs hooked into the loops on his jeans’ waistband, head tilted to the side as he peeped at Suga from his doe brown eyes and through  his long, sweeping lashes.

“Thought we should talk, that’s all,” Tooru said. “Get the awkwardness out of the way at the beginning of term.”

“Great, good idea,” Suga agreed, hating the fact that his voice sounded so shrill.

Tooru’s face lit up, and Suga’s treacherous heart leapt.

_Down, boy._

“So ... um ... coffee?” Tooru suggested. “On me.”

“ _What_ a consolation prize,” Suga muttered. He sniffed, then fearing that sounded weak, he pulled himself up to his full height (still too damn short) and faced down his ex. “We’re talking now, and it’s not awkward. Bye.”

“Koushi!”

“Bye, Tooru. See you in class.”

“Come on.”

_Ignore him. Keep on walking._

“Kou-chan!”

He halted abruptly, sudden tears pricking his eyes, and in a rage he span back on his heel. “Don’t!”

And there must have been something in his voice, or some look in his eyes, which stopped Tooru in his tracks. His arm had been outstretched as if to pluck Suga back to him, but it dropped to his side, and his mouth remained open but forlorn.

“Suga,” he implored. “Please, can we talk? Properly.”

He began to shake his head, but what good would that have done? They did need to have the ‘conversation’ as getting through the next two years ignoring each other was going to be impossible. Break ups were tough, but it was even worse when your ex was also the best friend you had at college.

“Okay.” He jerked his head to the right. “Cafeteria?”

“Hmm, very full of first years getting over excited about being away from home,” Tooru replied. “How about your room, or ... uh ... somewhere in town.”

Somewhere in town sounded good. A neutral place, not one of their old haunts, one that didn’t hold any particular memories that would only triple the difficulty of the approaching conversation.

They talked about nothing much as they walked. Tooru chatted, but it was inconsequential stuff, a new anime series he’d found, an episode of FRIENDS he’d seen on a rerun channel that had made him laugh _(The one where Rachel makes that trifle and mixes it with shepherd’s pie. I mean, how could that happen, Koushi? But Phoebe and Jacques Cousteau, I nearly died!)._

For his part, Suga answered Tooru’s questions, not just with nods, but proper replies when he asked about his Grandma ( _She needs a new hip, so that’s scheduled for the end of April. Yes, I probably will go back and see her. Mmm, she’d appreciate a card._ ) He bit his tongue, for his Gran liked Tooru a lot, calling him a charmer with a twinkle in his eye.

They arrived at the coffee shop, one they’d both walked past on previous occasions. With large windows, white decor and red plastic tables, it was neither welcoming nor intimate. Exactly the sort of place they needed now. They could talk, but keep it light.

Tooru ordered, leaving Suga to sit at a table, one close to the wall and not the window. He found himself studying a couple across the room, holding hands above the table, a girl and a boy –legitimate, happy, and ...

Except they weren’t looking at each other, and now Suga looked closer, he noticed a glimmer of tears on the girl’s lashes.

_Dammit, we should have gone somewhere else. This is far too –_

“Americano, flat white. And a cookie, Koushi-chan?” Tooru said, swinging his hips as he sashayed through the tables. “They look okay, but I suspect they bought them from the store and they won’t be a patch on anything you can make.” He stopped speaking, removing his jacket to hang over the back of his chair. “What’s up?”

“Um, nothing, just life playing out in front of me,” Suga replied. He shook his head, trying to clear the image of her tears, then picking up the cookie he broke it in half. “Not a bad snap.”

“You sound like a Bake-Off judge,” Tooru laughed. “Have you thought what you’re going to bake?”

“Not yet,” he said, popping some of the cookie in his mouth. He grimaced. “Very dry.”

“Your Grandma’s spiced apple cake is wonderful.”

“It is indeed,” Suga replied, non-commitally. “What about you?”

“Mille-feuille ... possibly. I’ve been practising over the break.” He chewed on his cookie, making a face. “Gave me something to do,” he muttered, then palmed the contents of his mouth, pushing the rest of the cookie to one side.

And there it was. The holiday and the conversation Tooru had said he was going to have. But clearly something wasn’t right.

“What happened with Iwaizumi-kun?” Suga ventured.

“Nothing.”

“Pardon.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“At all?”

“Hmm, well, I told him that _we’d_ split up. He looked sad at that, by the way. He’s practically ordered me to make sure I keep our friendship going.” He sipped his coffee. “You have a fan, Koushi.”

He brushed away the compliment, staring across his coffee cup at Tooru. “But you didn’t tell him why we’d broken up?”

“No.”

“But you _said_ you were going to.”

“Mmm, but then I got off the bus, and guess who meets me, but Iwa-chan and his new girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“He wanted us to meet,” Tooru said miserably. “It was like he wanted my approval, so what could I say? ‘Yes, she’s fabulous but so am I and what’s more I’ve loved you since I was fifteen.’”

“Sorry.”  He meant it. Tooru looked so obviously unhappy, and Suga knowing exactly how that felt wouldn’t wish it on anyone, not even the cause of his own unhappiness.

“So, that’s a bust,” Tooru said, sniffing. “And I have to stop myself thinking it’s in any way possible, so I’ve come back, determined to make a fresh start and ace everything this year.”

“That’s not a fresh start; you were top of the class last year.”

“Then,” Tooru continued, his voice a little thick and ragged. “I shall continue to be amazing. Just as some things change, others are destined to remain the same.”

He took a quick sip of his coffee, then another, the gesture surprised Suga because it looked for all the world as if Tooru – Oikawa Tooru, self-professed Fabulous Personage – was nervous.

And that made Suga nervous, too.

“I missed you, Kou-chan,” he whispered.

“Don’t.”

“I really did,” Tooru persisted, his voice soft and winning, like a breeze on a hot summer’s day.

“Tooru, please.”

“We’re good together.”

“You’re in love with someone else.”

“Which is never going to happen. And I have to get over that.”

“By using me? I’m not a fucking springboard, Tooru!”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Exasperated, Tooru reached across the table and made a grab for Suga’s hand, but Suga whipped his arms away, upsetting his coffee in the process.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he said, dabbing at the coffee with the pile of napkins.

“An accident, and it was you who– It doesn’t matter.”  Tooru ‘tsked’, then taking the napkins from Suga, he mopped up the rest of the coffee. “I’ll buy you another.”

“No, don’t.”

“It’s all gone.”

“I don’t want another. I want to leave. I’m going back.”

“Koushi!”

Snatching up his jacket, letting the chair scrape then fall across the floor, Suga scarpered. The couple at the other table were now smiling, the tears from earlier apparently nothing, and they glanced across almost disapprovingly at Suga’s show of emotion. He made it to the door, wrenched on the handle, and ran into the street.

Tooru caught up with him before he’d made it to the corner. With his long legs and penchant for early morning jogging, it was a given he’d reach him if he could be bothered. Which he apparently was.

“Koushi, don’t run away!”

Shrugging off his hand, Suga stopped, but he didn’t turn around.

“We’re good together,” Tooru insisted. “You know we are.”

“We are,” Suga murmured, then checked himself. “At least, we were. That first four months, Tooru, were incredible - ”

“It can be again. Fresh start.”

Heaving out a sigh, Suga at last turned around. Tooru had his hands folded across his chest, as if he were cold and it wasn’t a Spring afternoon warm enough to sooth the iciest of hearts.

“No, you need to find someone you love more than Iwaizumi, and that’s not me.”

“Koushi ...”

“And I need to find someone I can love more than you.” He was dry-eyed, surprised his voice was coming out so clear and concise. And from the pained expression of Tooru’s face, he must have sounded cold, too. “I need to finish unpacking. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Please.”

A car drove past, too fast for the quiet street they’d walked down, and a flurry of air swirled around them, disturbing the cherry blossom sending it tipping off the tree. Petals drifted down, settling into Tooru’s hair, and on Suga’s upturned face.

_Ironic that it falls just as I’m saying goodbye to ‘us’ forever._

He’d wondered if this would happen. Wondered how he’d deal with it if it actually did. For as much as he knew they couldn’t go back, clinging on to the past was so much warmer than having nothing to hold onto. And it would be so easy to slide back into their relationship, forget about the last half of it when he’d realised but not had the courage to break it off.

“I adore you,” Tooru beseeched.

“Adoring someone isn’t the same as love, Tooru. It’s the sort of thing people say about their ... their _pets_ ,” he sputtered, “and I can’t ... It’s not enough.”

_________________

 

“You’re amazing, you know that,” Daichi whispered, “and perfect in every way.”

“Except my dodgy back,” Suga replied, wriggling a little in Daichi’s arms.

“Which is getting stronger,” Daichi said, and held him still. “Keep up the swimming and the exercises and you’ll be flawless.”

“Apart from the scar.”

Daichi pressed his cheek against Suga’s back, taking in the scent of him, of them, of once clean sheets now pungent with sex, of love and life and laughter. “Want to tell me about it?”

“I will,” Suga said, his voice a little singsong. “But first, a shower!”

 

_________________

 

Laughter was an insidious sound. It had been the first thing Suga had noticed about Tooru. He had three types of laugh, a flirtatious giggle, a deep-throated belly laugh for when he was genuinely amused, and a fuck-off that’s not funny ‘ha ha’ type of noise.

It was the first laugh that Suga was finding hard to block out. Since the coffee incident, he’d decided it was easier to stay out of Tooru’s way. That, of course, wasn’t easy at all considering they shared all the same classes at catering college and their group consisted of  fourteen students.  But by situating himself on the front bench in lectures, and the cooking port to the far left in the kitchen, Suga managed to get through the first week back without having to exchange a single word with Tooru.

It wasn’t that he wanted to be like this. He missed him, missed the dumb asides they’d make in class, or Tooru’s endless and slightly bitchy comments about the other students. The way they’d be there for each other, helping out if either had forgotten and ingredient, or messed up an instruction. Suga missed their friendship far more than he missed the fact of them, but this way was the best. Having your cake and eating it had never struck him as a wise saying before now –what the hell else were you supposed to do with cake? – but now he understood.  Friendship would hurt both of them too much. Better to rip the band-aid off in one go rather than easing it off slowly.  Better to not make the damn cake at all than stare at it knowing one single crumb would ruin you.

In class now, Tooru’s laughter filled the air. Not constantly, but always at the wrong moments, the times when Suga was trying to concentrate on chopping or reading a recipe. He grabbed salt instead of sugar to dust the baking trays with, not realising until the Swiss roll had long appeared out of the oven and was about to be tasted by the sensei.

“Remember where you put things,” Takeda murmured, subtly removing the spoilt sponge from his mouth. “It helps to keep your workspace in some semblance of order, Sugawara-kun. I have mentioned this before.”

But scatty and messy were the way Suga worked. Baking on instinct and love, he was at his best when happy. Tooru used to say he was a ‘soul-baker’ – the term had always made Suga shiver, reminding him of zombies or Dementors, but Tooru had laughed.

(‘It’s because you give so much of yourself, Kou-chan. You want everyone to be happy.’

‘And that’s wrong?’

‘It is if you want to be a success.’)

 

“Sorry, sensei. I’m a bit distracted,” he muttered, then flinched as Tooru’s giggle reached him from the far end of the kitchen.

“Well, this was just a practise,” Takeda replied. He hesitated, as if about to say something else, but when Suga picked up the cake, ready to throw it away, he thought better of it and moved on.

 

He hadn’t wanted anyone to join him in the cafeteria, so had selected one of the smaller tables to sit at with his coffee, but sure enough one classmate after another pulled up a chair, excitedly talking about class and the upcoming competition.

“Sensei says there are three rounds. One is technical, one is signature and the other is  ... um ... what was the word he used?”

“Show-stopper?” Suga suggested.

“Well, yes,” one of them said, “but he’s not setting us all the same thing, so basically we’re to do what we feel is our very best cake and he’ll judge on that.”

“Which means Oikawa will win,” a girl called Aime muttered, a little sourly. “Unless he bans mille-feuille.”

Suga raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He was surprised Aime had condescended to sit at his table.  They were friends, or had been, but since returning this year, she’d been distinctly off with him. It wasn’t something he was that bothered about, in fact he felt slightly relieved she’d clearly dumped him. Ishigawa Aime was immensely talented and  had a confidence to equal Tooru’s, but where he set out to charm, Suga always felt too silly for words in her presence. In a good mood, she’d rival Tooru in popularity, but there was a scathing side to her, one Suga had always been wary of.

“Someone mention my name?” Tooru joined them, his eyes flicking to Suga before smoothly pulling up a chair. “Or just my speciality?”

“Both,” Suga replied, when no one else did. He met Tooru’s eyes. “You’re synonymous with pastry now, Tooru.”

“And you with apple cake,” Tooru replied, then he poked out his tongue twitching his mouth into a tease of a smile. “A sharp tang on the lips and an undercurrent of spice, eh, Kou-chan?”

“I thought vanilla slices would be more Sugawara’s thing,” Aime chimed, eyeing Oikawa with a smile.

 “Rude, Aime-chan!” Tooru said, but he was laughing. “Poor Kou-chan, you’ll give him a complex thinking _everything_ he does is boring.”

“Whereas mille-feuille is a thousand leaves with nothing holding them up but hot air, Oikawa,” Suga retorted.

He waited for a waspish reply, waited for some show of anger from Tooru, but instead he raised his hand to a guy approaching with a tray and two coffees, and moved his chair to one side. “Make room for Henri, my precious cupcakes.”

“Who?” Aime viewed the newcomer, and following her impressed gaze, Suga took in the tall stranger. Hair dark as pitch, with a sharp undercut and beetle-black eyebrows, he wore a smirk as if it were his habitual expression.

Seeing his athletic physique, Suga hated him on sight, and he hated him even more when Tooru slid his hand across Henri’s knee and introduced him as an exchange student from Nice.

“So be kind to him because his Japanese isn’t very good.”

“My French is non-existent!” exclaimed one of the girls.

“I understand you,” Henri replied. “I am a quarter Japanese through my father. And my English is excellent.”

“En Français!” Tooru ordered. “I need ze practise, Henri.”

“For what, Tooru?”

_It’s Tooru already._

“Because one day,” Tooru replied, fluttering his eyelashes, “I want to open a restaurant in Paris, and live in the City of Love.”

His coffee half-drunk and Suga couldn’t take any more. Despite knowing the satisfaction it would bring Tooru that he couldn’t bear to be at the same table as they continued to flirt, he got to his feet, mumbled an excuse and stumbled away.

 

_________________

 

”The trouble with hot showers is the steam.”

“I thought you liked things steamy, Dai-chan.”

He looped his arms around Suga’s waist, pulling him so close they weren’t just touching but entwined.  “I do, but it means I can’t see you clearly.”

As Suga laughed, his open mouth caught the spray from the shower and he began to splutter, pushing Daichi away to cough.

“We could turn it to cold,” Daichi mused, half-heartedly thumping Suga on the back.

“Or you could rely on your memory,” Suga suggested. He straightened up, and reached across to the shower gel. “Minty, sports or citrus?”

“Surprise me!” he closed his eyes, leaning back against the tiles, waiting ...

A glide of hands across his chest, soft bubbles dripping downwards, and fingers slipping across his body, lathering every inch of his torso. Daichi peeked between his lashes, loving the lazy smile he could see on Suga’s face, loving the concentration as he decided to trace his fingers across Daichi’s abs, loving, loving, loving the man now in front of him, whose very presence enriched and enlivened his life.

“I adore you,” he murmured.

Suga’s hands slowed. “That’s nice,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the shower.

But he didn’t sound altogether happy, and Daichi didn’t know why.

 “Hey,” he whispered, gathering him close. “What’s up?”

Suga stared up at him. With the water glistening as it ran down his face, it was as if he were crying, only the lack of shaking shoulders belied the image. He stretched out his arms, draping them around Daichi’s neck.

“I love you.”

“And I love you,” Daichi replied, wondering why he needed this sudden reassurance. “You know that, right?”

“Mmm, I do. I guess I’m just a little hooked into the past at times.”

“Do you want to explain?”

“If you want to listen, then ... yes.”

 

_________________

 

The hall party was the obligatory hell on earth. Suga hadn’t wanted to go, but knowing he’d be unable to filter out the noise, and the hall rep would crash into his room demanding he turn up, had more or less forced him to attend. His plan was to ensure his room was locked, show his face, make sure everyone knew he was having ‘fun’ (or else they’d demand to know why he wasn’t enjoying himself) and then slip away. He’d pretend to get drunk, wander off ostensibly in search of the toilet, then leave. He could walk around the campus, sit in the library ‘til ten and then move to the cafeteria until eleven. After that, he’d wander awhile, or if it wasn’t too cold he’d sit and watch the stars.

If he’d known Tooru was going to gatecrash, he’d have fled the campus for the night.  He’d brought Henri with him, or perhaps Henri brought him, Suga never quite divined which one had received the invite. College parties weren’t big on formalities, so for all he knew both had crashed.

“Koushi!”

“Tooru.”

“You look ... uh ...”

“Adorable?” he said sourly, knowing he looked like shit having not bothered to change out of his scruffy jeans and over-large t shirt.

“Out of place, I was going to say,” Tooru replied. “And just a little bored.”  His eyes were glittering from illicit alcohol, and the disarray of his hair gave the impression he’d tumbled straight out of bed to be there. “Why are you here?”

“It’s my hall, now,” Suga snapped. “What brings you?”

“Henri wants to experience everything about Japan and college,” Tooru murmured and licked the corner of his lip. “He’s very enthusiastic.”

He could see Henri across the room, picking up a bottle of beer and then ladling some of the foul but potent punch into a glass. Having poured several glasses into the plant pot already, Suga didn’t actually blame him for choosing beer.  With the ever-present smirk, he was talking to three girls, one of whom Suga recognised from the Hall, and he showed no intention of coming over to Tooru.

 “He’s certainly enthusiastic about that girl’s chest. He can’t keep his eyes off it.”

“It’s all in fun,” Tooru said, and laughed his ‘ha ha fuck off’ laugh.  “Something you never really understood, did you?”

“Pardon?” he placed his drink on the table, more to stop himself from throwing it than anything.

“Oh, don’t sulk, it doesn’t suit you,” Tooru continued, his voice taking on a harder edge. “It was all hearts and flowers and _love_ for you, wasn’t it, Kou-chan? The concept of merely having a good time was lost on you.”

“Whereas all you wanted was a fuck, is that what you’re saying?” He could feel his insides churning, molten heat and queasiness, fury and nausea as the shock of Tooru’s words hit him.  “What a fucking shame you were stuck with me then!”

“It’s all I need now,” Tooru trilled, bending down to Suga’s ear. “You’re very welcome to join us. I’m sure Henri would be delighted. Just don’t ...” Unsteady on his feet, he placed his hand flat against the wall. “Don’t fall in love and ruin everything.”

With enough presence of mind to snatch up his jacket, Suga left, cannoning off Tooru and then the wall, running out of the room, through the double doors and to the outside. Laughter followed him, whether it was Tooru’s he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t have bet against it.

 

He returned much later, after a stint in the library, then the cafeteria and finally an extended stargaze, getting to his room long after two. Cold and tired, his head was clear even though his heart weighed a ton. The lights approaching his room were out, but in the starlit gloom, he could see a figure slumped against his door, and he didn’t need bright light to see who it was.

“Hey,” Tooru peered up at him. He’d acquired a hat with a brim, but lost several buttons on his shirt. “You’re back.”

“I am.”

“Wanted to say...” Dipping his back as he used his shoulders to bump him off the wall, Tooru struggled to find his feet. He was swaying, and close up Suga could smell the alcohol, not just from his breath, but all down his shirt and jacket by the look of it.

“Whatever it is it can wait,” Suga said. “I’m tired.

“Sorry,” Tooru continued. “I was a prick tonight and you don’t deserve that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, no, no, no, nooooo,” Tooru mused, his head still shaking long after he’d stopped speaking. “’Snot fine. I was rude and upset you and I’m very, very, very sorry, Koushi-chan.” He hiccupped softly. “May I come in?”

“Um, not really a good idea. Look, it’s okay. Go home or wherever you’re supposed to be.”

“Supposed to be. Yes, that’s a good question.”  He frowned a little. “Henri pissed off somewhere with one of those girls, or two of them, I don’t know. I didn’t want to be a part of that and ...” He huffed out a breath, setting several strands of his hair flying in the air. “He’s an arse.”

“Tooru, you can’t stay here.”

“Please.”

He was tempted, sorely tempted, for after all what harm would it do, but as he pulled out his keys, they dropped to floor.  He crouched down, but so did Tooru, and then noses touching, Tooru tilted Suga’s face with a hand under his chin, and sought his mouth.

_I’m going to kiss him._

But as he got closer he heaved in a breath and a waft not just of alcohol but strong aftershave and some sickly perfume pervaded his nostrils.

“No, Tooru,” he whispered and pulled away.

“I’m so unhappy,” Tooru mumbled, and his hand grasped Suga’s shoulder. “ Hajime called. He wants to come and stay and asked after you. That’s the only reason I hooked up with Henri.”

Let him kiss me, let him stay, and let him use me again. I’m not even sure he realises what he’s doing.

“You can’t be here, Tooru. I’m sorry.”

“Please.”

“No. You need to leave.” He smiled a little pathetically. “I’m not allowed overnight guests.”

“Oh.”

The silence hung between them, heavy as an iron curtain, and yet if Tooru had asked one more time, Suga was sure the curtain would have ripped.

Ever so slowly, Tooru got to his feet, still swaying.  “Sorry. I’ll go.” He wandered down the corridor, keeping a cautious straight line the way drunks did when they were concentrating, and then as he reached the corner, he raised his hand. “Nice to know you, Sugawara.”

 

_________________

 

Sitting on the sofa, his legs drawn up to his chest and chin on his knees, Suga didn’t look heartbroken, just a little forlorn. Daichi wasn’t a fan of nostalgia, looking forward rather than back was the way he got through life, but he knew Suga had baggage he’d never quite been able to relinquish. It was who he was, and although Daichi might sometimes wish Suga’s mind didn’t wander back to the times before they’d found each other, it was a trait that made and explained him. His empathy was rooted in his past, from his grandmother, his parents, college, Tooru and finally the accident that had left him in a coma - everything had shaped Suga.

“Must have been a horrible time,” he murmured, trying to understand.

“Wasn’t great. Neither of us talked for the next week or so, and no one in class knew what was going on. We’d been a couple and now we weren’t. Tooru was the talented one, so it was popularly believed he’d got bored with me riding on his coat tails.”

“And you didn’t have any other friends?” Daichi questioned and draped his arm around Suga’s shoulders, drawing him close.

“Hmm, not really. I wasn’t _un_ popular, but so much of my college life in that first year was caught up with Tooru, and it wasn’t until later that I found my identity, I guess.” He sniffed and unfurled his legs reaching for his tea. “Nineteen is an odd age, don’t you think?  You’re not really allowed to be a teenager, with that heady, desperate swing of emotions. And yet any love at that age isn’t allowed to be real because you’re not really an adult, either. It’s dumb. Love is love, however old you are, but I was expected to get over it as quick as a wink.”

_________________

 

With a final shake of the sieve, Suga completed his Victoria Sandwich, and huffed out a sigh of relief. The jam had set properly and the buttercream had been light. The only slight issue he had was with his sponge, which to his eye was a little too dense. He bit his lip, but it was too late to do anything about it now. At least it had risen evenly, and he was sure it would taste good.

Satisfied, or as satisfied as he could be, Suga carried it up to the front table, sliding it between two other cakes then returned to his seat.  He watched as Tooru walked from the back of the kitchen, a plate bearing his offering on one hand, and a sliver of a smile on his lips.

And unless Tooru had completely mucked up his flavourings, there was no doubt he’d won the technical challenge.

Takeda would be judging this round blind. With no idea who had baked which cake, there’d be no possibility of favouritism. Not that their sensei had favourites. He was scrupulously fair and desperate to remain so, but that hadn’t stopped the whispers in the first round of their competition.

 

“Biscuits,” Takeda had said.  “I want twenty four. They must be iced and identical.”

Simple instructions, and the class had all smiled before the implication sunk in. Yes it was just biscuits, but any type of biscuit, and how could they second-guess what would meet Takeda’s approval.

Suga had run through several ideas in his head, from chilli-flavoured chocolate, to ginger snaps to basic shortbread. He loved shortbread, loved the way the buttery taste would dissolve in his mouth, but it wasn’t a good biscuit to ice. He needed something firmer.  From his corner, he mulled over a few ideas. His strength was flavour. Tooru was the technical baker, and also one who took risks.

And before this contest kicked off, Suga knew who his main competition was.

Chocolate and orange – a classic.  He breathed again, leafing through his recipe book and found exactly what he needed. And with a little hope in his heart, and blocking out the sounds of Tooru as he started to trill out a song, claiming he was crooning to his cookies, Suga weighed out his ingredients and began.

His biscuits had been good. He’d managed – for once – to time everything to perfection, so when he began to ice them, turning each biscuit into a miniature bouquet of roses, with green angelica stems and tiny swirls of pink to finish the effect, he breathed easily, pleased with his presentation.

From the far corner, as far away from him as possible, Tooru’s singing became louder, a sure sign he was happy with his work, but possibly not concentrating as hard as he could.

His biscuits were, as expected, excellent. A myriad of love hearts, with a delicate lemon flavour, Takeda had noted. And he’d used different icings in varying shades of pink, telling Takeda in a louder than necessary voice that it was to represent degrees of love. As Takeda broke a biscuit, he wailed dramatically that his heart had been broken. Their sensei had laughed, his only remarks after the compliments was that he had asked for twenty four identical biscuits, and these weren’t quite the same. ‘Also, the snap wasn’t quite there, Oikawa-kun. A little under baked, perhaps.”

“Hmm, I was trying for a deeper flavour, and the dough was moister than usual,” Tooru replied, accepting the critique with his usual grace.

Suga felt a part of him lift at that news, studying his biscuits with their uniformity. Boring, maybe, but what had been asked for. Then he kicked himself for the pettiness, but he needed a chance.

 

Tooru won the technical challenge. His Victoria sandwich was above and beyond everyone else’s. It wasn’t a surprise, the surprise came when Takeda declared Suga had taken second place. And with the compliments abounding from his ‘bountiful bouquet of biscuits’, all eyes swivelled to Suga.

Which did not escape Tooru’s attention.  “Well done, Suga-chan,” he said as they left the class for lunch break. “And good luck for this afternoon.”

“You, too,” Suga replied, his voice clear.

“I won’t lose to you,” Tooru declared, raising his voice a notch, and tossing his hair back, ensuring everyone’s attention was on them.

“You sure about that?”

And for a second, they were back to where they had been, banter and jokes, tender affection and warmth bubbling between them. Tooru smiled at Suga, and tilted his head to one side, his eyes gleaming with what Suga had once thought of as love.

But in that move, the collar of his shirt dropped, exposing his neck to view. A love bite, a hickey, the telltale sign of making out with another. Henri, perhaps, or had Tooru found someone else? Suga took a step back, averting his gaze.

“Koushi?”

“I’m f-fine.” He turned on his heel, half-stumbling, desperate to get some air between them. “S-sorry, I have to go. Left this afternoon’s recipe in my room.”

“You know that apple cake off by heart,” Tooru teased.

_It shouldn’t upset me. I turned him down._

The words became a mantra as he pounded his way across campus. It was a good thing they’d not got back together, and he could hardly blame Tooru for wanting to find someone else. He was physical, passionate, as demanding  as he was generous, and that part of their relationship hadn’t dwindled, even when their emotions were limping.  

Sudden tears started in Suga’s eyes, the physicality of Tooru was something he’d repressed, spending time with his grandma during the break and baking, always baking, honing his skills as he did the one thing he truly loved and left him fulfilled.

Feeling his lungs protest, he slowed his pace, finally coming to a halt around the side of the library.  He leant against the wall, staring up at the sky and tried not to think.

Voices drifted to him, a couple of girls passed by, sipping juice from cartons and cast him a curious glance. He checked his reflection in the library window, saw his nose had a smear of icing on it, there was jam on his cheek and he was still wearing his apron.

_Was that why Tooru was laughing?_

Slouching his shoulders, he slumped on the ground, cradled his head in his hands and tried, above all, not to cry.  A flurry of students walked past, some heading into the library and some sweeping out, intent on eating or having a cigarette – normal things people did on breaks – but Suga kept his head buried in his sleeves.

“Tooru will win,” a girl said, her voice strident.

 “You _think!”_ came the reply and a laugh. “He’s so obviously the best!”

“Mmm, I’d be jealous, but he’s been so sweet recently.”

 _Ugh, it’s Aime._ He curled into a tighter ball.

“And gorgeous,” added someone.

 _That’s Chiasa,_ Suga thought. Her sponge had sunk and she’d been close to tears.

“And from what I hear, he’s totally available.”

Chiasa cackled. “You’re so not his type, Aime-chan, what are you thinking?”

Peeping up at them, Suga watched as Aime drew on her cigarette, answering levelly, “He was with a girl from my corridor last night.”

“What?”

It was clearly news and the other two stopped to gawk. Aime, now at the centre of attention took another puff of her cigarette, exhaling and not at all apologetic when her smoke billowed into her friend’s face.

“Is he seeing her then?” she spluttered, her face making no secret of her disappointment.

“Doubt it. Looks like a one night stand to me,” Aime, fount of all knowledge, replied.

“I thought he was ... uh ... you know ... gay.”  Aime’s friend spoke the word with trepidation as if it were blasphemy.

“HA!” Aime began to laugh. “You think because he wants to cook that he’s gay! So stereotyped, Hashi!”

“No!” Hashi retorted, stung. “He was seeing that other boy on your course. The one with the weird hair.”

“Oh, purlease. It was all an act. Oikawa Tooru is not gay. And, well, I’m pretty sure Sugawara was only playing up to him for effect. Desperate to latch onto someone with popularity.” She sniffed. “He’s an oddball.”

“You liked him last year,” Hashi said. “I remember you saying he was really beautiful close up.”

“Mmm, ‘til I found out what a talentless creep he was.” Aime shuddered. “How he got second place in the technical I have no idea.”

“Moved on from Oikawa and now under the sensei’s my bet,” Chiasa said, giggling. “He could hardly give Sugawara first place after that sponge. Oikawa-san’s was so much better.”

“Bet he was overjoyed when Oikawa decided to stray from the rules with those biscuits. It gives him a chance to award the prize to his sweetheart!” Aime sniped. She finished her cigarette and after a quick look around, seeing no one, she threw it onto the paving, twisting it out with her foot. “Come on, I need a juice.”

Wishing the ground would swallow him whole and never spit him out, Suga stayed where he was. Last year, following Tooru’s wake, he’d breezed through classes, not needing anyone else. He’d felt alive and loved and at peace with the world, now he realised he’d just been insulated and hidden from its enmity. While he’d never quite warmed to Aime, he hadn’t realised the depth of her antipathy before now.

And Chiasa too. He thought they got on. At least, she often said hello, and replied when he asked her questions. But maybe she’d always been uneasy around him.

“Suga-kun.”

He froze.

“Suga-kun, are you all right down there?”

He gulped, and screwing up his eyes, he tried to wipe them surreptitiously on his jacket sleeve. 

“Suga?”

Okay, I can’t pretend I’m asleep. Just smile at him. Pretend it’s allergies if he asks. He lifted his head. “Hello, Takeda-san!”

Blinking a little at the rather loud greeting, Takeda nonetheless kept his footing. “Suga-kun,” he said gently. “Are you all right?”

“Me?  Yes, yes, I’m – ”

“You look a little ...”

“Headache,” Suga interrupted. “I came outside for some air and a drink.”

“Well, don’t stay here too long. The showstopper starts in ten minutes.”

“Um ... yes, about that. I ...”

_What am I doing? Am I running away?_

Takeda stepped towards him, hands straight at his sides. He took off his glasses, wiped them on his sleeve and then began to speak. “Suga-kun, if you are really feeling unwell, then of course you don’t have stay for the afternoon session, but ...” He tailed off as he replaced his glasses, then coughed. “I’d be disappointed. I have heard that you’re going to make that wonderful apple cake.”

“Oh.”

“And you’re doing very well so far. Those biscuits are a good example of what you can achieve when you don’t allow yourself to get distracted.”

“Distracted?”

Takeda smiled and stretched out his hand to help Suga to his feet. “You have flair and a love for cooking, Suga-kun, but it’s coupled with a tendency to overthink and not trust your instincts.”  He released him and began to walk back across the grass. “You’re different this year. Last year you coasted, but I sense something else now. And I think you spent your holiday practising what you love.”

Suga sniffed and nodded. “I stayed with my grandma. She and my granddad used to own a bakery and a cafe. They taught me how to cook.”

 

(“You’re sad, Koushi-chan,” his Grandmother had said.

“A little,” he’d replied, not wanting to worry her. “It’ll be fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough for my favourite grandson.”

“Only grandson,” he modified, and smiled into her sparkling eyes. “It’s not important. Just ... um ... something didn’t turn out the way I hoped.”

“Perhaps you need to adjust the recipe, Koushi.”

“It’s not about cake this time, Grandma,” he said.

“Recipes and Life – same thing,” she replied. “Now, find my book and we can make apple cake.” She stopped to deliberate. “Or maybe something different. We can teach each other.”)

 

“Cooking with love gets the best results,” Takeda whispered, his eyes twinkling. “Now, come on, I don’t want to give away the prize by default.”

_________________

 “Your sensei sounds like a good man,” Daichi murmured into Suga’s hair.

“He was. Well, he is. I will introduce you one day.”

“So, what happened with the competition? Were your biscuits better Oikawa’s?”

“They were. But actually it was Aime who won that first round. She made these stunning green tea biscuits, shaped like teacups and iced to look like fine china.”

“I’m sure I’d have hated them.”

“I commend you for your loyalty, Sir Daichi, but actually she was very talented.”

“So...” Daichi counted on his fingers. “You have a second on the signature bake and a second on the technical.”

“That’s right. Tooru won the technical, and was probably third with his biscuits. Aime was around sixth place on the technical. Her jam was too runny.”

“How sad.” Daichi’s lips twitched.

“Tragic,” Suga agreed. “However, much as I can laugh about this now, the story isn’t finished. There was still all to play for coming in to the showstopper!”

“I’m cheering you on!” Daichi said, nuzzling Suga’s ear.

“Stop that and listen.”

_________________

 

It had been a mistake to walk back into the kitchens with the sensei. Suga realised that as soon as he stepped over the threshold and the first person he saw was Aime, who was standing next to Tooru. Behind them, Chiasa was thumbing through a cookery book, pencil in hand, and hair tied back under a hat.

Aime raised her eyebrows, and turned to whisper something to her friend, but Tooru was staring at Koushi, his eyes narrowing.

_Oh, please don’t tell me you believe her._

He was so weary of this, and if Takeda hadn’t known he was there, he’d have walked out of the classroom, and taken no part in the contest. But then, as Aime’s laugh pealed out, something clicked.

_I’m her competition, she doesn’t like that. She’s not considered that before, and neither’s Tooru.   But the break and the break-up changed me._

“Get to your stations,” Takeda called, summoning them all. “And when I call your name, please tell me what you’re baking for the showstopper.” His eyes flicked to the back of the room. “Oikawa Tooru?”

“Mille-feuille,” Tooru replied, and bowed extravagantly. He blew a kiss at Chiasa and another at Aime, who snorted but hid a smile.

“Ishigawa Aime?”

“Three tier white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake,” she called back.

“Hanamaki Chiasa?”

“Lemon meringue pie.”

Suga stifled his surprise. They had three hours for this challenge and lemon meringue wasn’t something that took that long. It was safe.

Takeda went round the rest of the class. A mixture of cakes from gingerbread houses, to elderflower and lemon iced buns, and black forest gateaux until finally he came to Suga.

“Spiced Apple cake, I bet,” Tooru called out.

“Yawn!” Aime said, eliciting a laugh.

“Suga? Your cake?” Takeda asked again.

He gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders.

 _Change the recipe,_ his gran had said.

“Sachertorte,” he replied.

_________________

 

“Plot thickening!” Daichi whispered, then sat upright. “Hold on, that’s the cake you tried to kill me with.”

“It contains egg,” Suga replied primly, “and it’s cooked at a low temperature for a long time, so it’s just possible that a person who is allergic to egg but doesn’t tell the baker about their allergy, might find themselves in need of allergy pills when said baker decides to feed them some of this deliciousness.”

Daichi blushed. “Would I have been better with the cheesecake?”

“No, that’s practically raw egg. Aime would have killed you.”

“And mille feuille?”

“Crème patisserie is generally made with egg, but Tooru might have taken pity on you and filled them with cream instead.”

“Deadly business this cake baking.”

“Very true. Blood was drawn in this contest.”

“Spatulas at dawn.”

“Not quite.”

_________________

 

Remembering his holiday and his grandma’s advice, Suga prepared his Sachertorte sponge first. It was a dark chocolaty cake, heavy on the egg, light on the flour, and mixed with ground almonds. Dark and moist, it didn’t rise, so against the other creations, it would look insignificant if he didn’t get the rest right.  The ‘rest’ being an apricot glaze, and then a mirror-like chocolate icing, a smooth ganache that gave the appearance of a shimmering pool.

He had time, and plenty of it, so took a minute or two to drink some water, and plan his next steps.

Tooru began to sing, softly and to himself. He sometimes lost himself when he cooked, getting caught up in his creations. With mille-feuille the secret was with the pastry, the preparation and folding, resting in the fridge, turning, and rolling, but never over handling.

In front of him, Aime was frowning at her bain marie, checking the cheesecake hadn’t cracked over the surface. Chiasa was stirring her lemon filling, a smile on her face. Every so often, she’d lift her head up and flash a nervous glance around the room, occasionally catching people’s eyes and smiling. But when Suga looked at her, she flushed and turned away.

He took out a bowl, broke the dark chocolate into it, then placed it over a pan of boiling water, stirring as it melted.

Behind him, a gingerbread house was being constructed. His classmate Akino, was scowling ferociously as he tried to glue some walls together with icing. He let out a yell as the wall collapsed. “DAMMIT!”

“Don’t worry,” Suga murmured, and turned away from his chocolate. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’m fine!” Akino snapped.

“Sure.” He went back to his chocolate, where it was bubbling nicely, all smooth and slick, then picked up his carton of cream.

And then realised his mistake. “Add the chocolate to the cream, not the other way around! I’m an idiot!”

“Should have stuck to your _adorable_ apple cake, Suga-chan,” Aime called out, her voice laughing, and if Suga hadn’t heard her earlier, he’d have joined in with the rest of the class.

“Sugawara?”

“Fine, sensei. I need to start something again.”

Heating the cream, slowly – refusing to rush – he fetched another bar of chocolate from the fridge, pleased he’d had the foresight to plan for any errors. He had time, plenty of it. The cake was cooling, and giving off the most wonderful aroma. Akino was still cursing, but it was muttered now, the normal sounds he made when he cooked. Chiasa was mixing her meringue, moaning about sugar or soft peaks or something, while Aime munched on a spare raspberry, turning around to chat to Tooru.

Suga reached for his rolling pin to smash the chocolate into pieces, checked his cream asn’t boiling over, then turned back to Akino. “All right?”

“Mmm, fine,” he muttered. He stood back from his counter smiling as the gingerbread house stayed put. “Sorry for shouting.”

“Are you making gingerbread men, too?” Aime called out.

“Yeah, if I have time,” he replied with a grin.

“Boys and girls, or just boys,” she said, and started to laugh. “What’s your preference, Sugawara-kun?”

_Why am I scared of her? She’s a nasty bigot with no more brains than a pea._

“Girls,” he said, fixing her with a glare. “It’s more fun snapping their heads off before I eat them.”

He twisted away from her, pressing his hand down on the chocolate bringing his rolling pin down hard.

Right on his thumb.

“OWWW! FUCK!”

“You can’t do that to gingerbread boys,” Aime drawled, “Not only is it illegal, you’ll make them soggy.”

“Suga-kun!” Takeda rushed over. “What’s happened?”

“S’okay. Just my thumb.”

“Cold water, now,” Takeda ordered, and grabbing Suga’s wrist, he walked him over to the sink and held his hand under the cold tap.

Around them, the class were silent, embarrassed probably, and then a lilting tune rent the air as Tooru began to sing - very dramatically.

 _‘Bang bang, he shot me down_  
_Bang bang, I hit the ground.’_  
  
“Kiss it better, sensei,” Aime sighed, making gooey eyes, and garnering laughs.

 _Bang bang, that awful sound_  
_Bang bang, my baby shot me down_  
  
“Simmer down, Ishigawa-kun, and Oikawa, as beautiful as your voice is, please keep it for karaoke night,” Takeda called out. He frowned a little at Suga, narrowing his eyes as he perused the injury. “Think you’ll live. Be careful and don’t get distracted.”

It throbbed, and he had tears in his eyes, but he wasn’t done.  When the cream had heated, he added the chocolate bit by bit, stirring until it had melted.  Takeda was watching him, nodding his approval before he wandered to the back of the classroom and Tooru.

“Pastry?”

“Currently baking,” he said, and dipped down from view. “Ten minutes and then I’ll check.”

The chocolaty cream was thickening, gooey and soft, trickling from his spoon. And now the trick from his grandma. Picking up a small bottle from his counter, he poured out a teaspoon of glycerine, adding it to the mixture. He had to act fast now, beat in the glycerine, check the consistency and then pour it over the sponge. It would run over the sides, a glorious cascade of chocolate, which he’d smooth to a perfect sheen.

Tooru was singing again. Peering over his shoulder, Suga caught sight of him removing his pastry from the oven. As usual, it had risen perfectly, layers of wisp thin pastry interlaced with puffs of air, crisp enough to hold the filling, light enough to melt on the tongue. Takeda was still there, dipping a teaspoon into the crème anglaise, chatting to Tooru, taking delight in his student’s creativity.

“Ahh, the classic filling.”

“Were you expecting me to mix things up too, sensei?” Tooru said, and met Suga’s eyes, smiling because he knew he was being observed. “Not sure I’m in the mood to experiment today. I’ll leave that to Suga-chan.”

“You usually _like_ playing with flavours,” Takeda observed. “Are you mellowing, Oikawa-kun?”

“Playing with other things, sensei,” Tooru replied.

It was a normal Tooru type of comment, a faint innuendo, designed to get a laugh and faintly self-deprecating. And last year, Suga would have laughed too. This year, he should have just turned back, got on with his bake and blocked out the laughter now ringing around the room. But when Tooru had met his eyes again, Suga thought of the girl he’d been with the night before, the hickey on his neck, and flirting with Henri weeks ago.

It was no longer comedy, but an attack, a mockery, a ‘look at me, Kou-chan, I’m having fun.’

With a lump sticking in his throat, Suga dropped his gaze first.

_Fuck you._

The chocolate glaze would go lumpy if he didn’t pour it now. The icing would lose its lustre, and the appearance of the Sachertorte would be lessened to that of a flat, boring chocolate cake. His eyes had blurred with a sudden rush of tears, but he hadn’t realised until he reached for the bowl and hooked his damaged thumb underneath it.  And then, as if in slow motion, it slipped from his grasp before he knew he’d even got hold of it. He let out a cry, fumbled desperately to keep a hold, but the momentum and gravity conspired against him and it crashed to the floor.

“NOOOOOOO!”

“Suga-kun!” Takeda had whipped around immediately. Akino behind him, stared unable to move, his mouth slightly agape. Chiasa yelped out a nervous laugh, then gulped it down. The others in the class stopped momentarily, then continued – their showstoppers being the priority. Dropped bowls were like spilt milk – no use crying over, especially not if they belonged to the competition.

He sunk to the floor, sniffing back the unshed tears, his hands trembling, and the only thought now was to vanish, to stop all of this and run, flee, not listen to any of the voices here again. But as if on autopilot, his hands groped for the earthenware bowl, a part of him hoping all was not lost, that the day could still be salvaged. Something was niggling him, something sharp prodding him, and he wasn’t sure in this befuddled state what it was. He could hear Aime talking about white chocolate, he heard someone start up a whisk and saw Akino peering over his counter.

His hand hurt. Not his thumb. His actual hand, the wrist just where it joined the palm. He stared at it, wondering whether he’d burnt it on the liquid chocolate, perhaps the glycerine was nitro and he was about to explode. 

He giggled.

It was all preposterous.

He felt dizzy.

“Are you okay?”

“Um.” He stared upwards at Akino, and then the light around him blurred.

“Koushi?”

He switched his gaze to the right, bending his neck right back. It made him woozier. “Tooru?”

“Sugawara, are things all right?” Takeda had joined Tooru, concern etched in his face.

He giggled, lightness hitting him, and held out his wrist. “I’m bleeding chocolate. It’s nothing.”

“No, that’s blood. That’s actual blood,” Akino repeated, and just in case anyone in the city had missed it, he raised his voice. “Real blood.”

“You need to get that looked at.”

“Noooo, I’m fine, Takeda-sensei. Need more cream and chocolate and then I’m good to go.”

“Koushi.” Tooru stepped closer, then crouched down next to him. “There’s a piece of china sticking out of your wrist.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s get you to first aid,” Takeda soothed.

“Ummm, no, it’s...”He felt his eyelids flutter, and watched as his other hand brushed at the shard on his wrist.  It slid off, and he could feel nothing more excruciating now.  “I’m good now. Just ... a band aid, and then ...”

Smile at them. Convince them, because if you have to leave now it’s over.

“Koushi, are you sure?” Tooru asked, voice mellow and tender. Like it used to be.

He pressed his lips together, nodded and then flashed him his most winning smile, getting up to use the sink and wash off the blood and chocolate mix.

With the first aid box raided, Takeda patched up Suga’s wrist with gauze and blue plasters, his brows creased in concentration. “There is no shame in leaving now, Suga-kun,” he murmured. “There’s nothing to prove, you do know that.”

“Uh...” He held back a wince as the sensei tied the gauze tight.

“You’ve already shown me that you can try new things.” He smiled. “And you’ve proved that you listen and take instruction.”

It was a way out, one he could grab with no shame, and because his wrist was hurting far more than his thumb, he was sorely tempted to nod and leave the room.

But Aime’s voice reached him, complaining about raspberries

 “I’d like to see this through, sensei. But I need more chocolate.”

“There’s some in the store room,” Takeda advised.

“Does that mean if I run out of raspberries, then you’ll supply me with some?” Aime called out.

“If you run out of raspberries, it will be because you’ve spent the afternoon eating them,” Tooru snapped.

“I’m just checking the rules,” she said sulkily.

Takeda turned. His face was white, mouth stern and he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I am giving Sugawara dispensation to use some of the chocolate I have in the store cupboard. Unforeseen circumstances like this cannot be accounted for, but if I am able to accommodate them, then I shall.” He coughed and some colour reappeared on his cheeks.  “Now, I suggest everyone gets on with their showstopper because you only have thirty minutes left.”

There was a murmur, mainly of approval. Trying to ignore the pain, Suga began his chocolate icing for a third time.

_________________

 “So that’s how you got the scar!”

“It was indeed. You look disappointed.”

“No, I was expecting a knife fight with Aime, but I can’t have everything.” Daichi ducked to avoid Suga’s punch. “So what happened next?”

“You want to know?”

“Yeah, of course!  I have to know who won.” He grinned. “This is actually more exciting than the last league game I played.”

“Really?” Suga looked sceptical.

“Drama, passion, a gallant hero, a wise sensei, an evil villainess, and a baddie who might turn out to be a goodie.”

“Tooru is a goodie. You know he is.”

Daichi kissed Suga’s nose. “Yep, I know that.”

_________________

His hand was still hurting, throbbing under the bandage, and Suga wondered if the sensei had tied the gauze too tight. The blue plasters placed over the top for added protection weren’t sticking properly, so to stop them peeling off, he reached for a plastic glove, sliding it on.  The cream was warming through, and the next step was to smash up the chocolate. He reached for the rolling pin, ready to start again, when a shock ran through him, his thumb twingeing again.

“Hey,” whispered Akino. “Let me.”

“Haven’t you got things to do?”

“Nearly done. And that won’t take long.”  He walked round his counter before Suga could put in another protest, and whacked the chocolate, smashing it into small pieces.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” Akino muttered, and returned to his station. He was icing a gingerbread man, giving him an apron and a hat.

Suga stirred in some chocolate, a task he could do with either hand, and watched as the cream began to marble with brown. He dissolved some more, waiting for the swirl to disappear and homogenise to one colour. It wasn’t dark enough yet. Conscious of time, he added the rest, then grasped the spoon to stir rapidly. Holding the bowl with his damaged hand, he bit his lips to stop the cry of pain and screwed up his eyes.

_Why does it hurt so much. It’s just a cut. It wasn’t even that deep. It’s just a –_

“OH SHIT!”  he stared glassily down at his hand. The see-through glove felt wet inside, and to his horror, he saw blood pooling in the fingertips. “Sensei ... I ...”

He started to sway. The sight of blood didn’t normally make him faint, but the heat of the kitchen, the pain, and the sudden realisation that he hadn’t eaten lunch, began to have an effect. “Sensei!”

A pair of arms caught him. Through his half-closed eyes, he recognised long fingers, smudged with cream, and he gazed up into a pair of large brown heavily lashed eyes. “Tooru?”

“You fool. Why did you carry on?”

“Want to win,” he mumbled. “Want to prove I’m not boring, and I can do other things.”

“Only an idiot would say you’re boring, Kou-chan,” Tooru whispered, and helped him to a chair.

“Well I’ve messed it up now, haven’t I? Should have stuck to boringly safe apple cake.”

“I adore your apple cake,” Tooru declared. “And your grandma won’t be at all happy you’re maligning it like that.” He waited for Takeda to bring across a glass of water, and then placed his hands on his hips. “Now, tell me what to do!”

“What?”

“I’ll be your hands, Koushi. That’s allowed, isn’t it, Take-chan?” he asked. “I won’t improvise, but I’ll do exactly as he says.”

“I should never have let you continue. Keep this elevated!” Takeda said, then held Suga’s wrist up high. “Sugawara needs to see a medic.”

“And he will. But I doubt a few extra minutes will make much more difference. Keep your hand up, Koushi, and tell me what’s left to do.”

“Tooru, you can’t. What about your showstopper?”

“Pfft. All the tricky stuff’s done,” Tooru trilled. 

“Sensei, this isn’t really fair if Oikawa’s helping him,” Chiasa muttered. She was red in the face, not looking Suga in the eyes and from the way Aime was looking at her, he wondered if she’d been ‘persuaded’ to make the complaint.

“Well, as you’re sitting around doing nothing because you finished twenty minutes ago, then perhaps you’d help instead,” Tooru said sweetly and then turned back to Takeda. “If I’m willing to risk winning, then that’s my decision, isn’t it, sensei?”

“It’s your decision,” Takeda agreed. He pursed his lips, pressing the back of his hand against Suga’s cheeks, reassured to find he wasn’t clammy. “Drink more water and keep that hand raised, Sugawara.”

“Uh ... okay.” Suga took a breath and tried to process what was left to do. “Keep stirring the chocolate until it’s all dissolved.”

“All done!” sang Tooru. “Now, do I pour it over?”

“Glycerine first. One teaspoon.”

“Five mil, I’ve got that,” Tooru murmured, and dripped it in stirring as he did so. “Now can I pour it?”

“Yes. Pour into the middle and don’t worry about it spilling over the sides. Then, take a spatula and smooth it out.”

His tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, Tooru did as instructed. Watching him, Suga could tell he was itching to do something different, but he followed Suga’s orders, finishing with a careful flick of the spatula rather than his normal flourish.

“Ta da!”

“Perfect. Just one more thing.”

“Tell me.”

“Milk chocolate needs to be melted and piped on.”

“OOOH, what decoration. Lots of swirls?”

“No, just the word ‘Sacher’” He spelt it out, but Tooru was still looking a little blank.  “I’ve written it in my recipe book. It’s Austrian.”

“No problem.”Tooru began to giggle. “I love writing. Can I make ribbons as well? Or trace some love hearts.”

“Uh ...”

“I take that as a no,” Tooru sighed.

“I’ll melt the chocolate,” Akino butted in. “You make the icing piper thing.”

“Very sweet of you, Aki-chan,” Tooru teased, giving him a wink. “Now, Koushi, where are your nozzles?”

_________________

 “Aww, so grumpy Akino came through as well.”

“He did. He’s a very lovely man, who works in a restaurant in Kyoto and is getting married next year.”

“This is better than a soap opera, you know?”

“Real life often is.”

“And, so, did you win? I want to know exactly how everyone looked when Takeda-sensei made the announcement. Don’t leave a thing out,” Daichi warned.

“Oh, hmmm, you’d need to speak to Tooru about that. Takeda had called the medics and I was carted off to the hospital before he made the final announcement.”

_________________

As he examined the doctor’s handiwork on his wrist, Suga heard the swish of the cubicle curtains. He twisted towards the source, not at all surprised to see Tooru there still in his apron and chocolate smudging his hair.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. Really I am. The nurse is coming back with a dressing for this,” he replied and stretched out his wrist. “I’ve had painkillers, too, as they dug around and found a bit more of that pot in my wrist.”

Tooru shuddered. “And your thumb?”

“Not broken. I’ll have a black nail.” He sighed and raised his eyebrows. “I’m not sure they can believe quite how accident prone I was in one afternoon.”

“You’re not usually.” Tooru bit his lip, not moving from where he stood. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’ve been a shit since we got back.”

“I’ve not really been a supportive friend either,” Suga murmured. “I’m really sorry about Iwaizumi.”

“S’okay.” He shrugged. “Well, it isn’t, but there’s not much I can do about it, and it shouldn’t come between us.”

“Tooru ...”

He waved his hand. “I don’t mean like that. I know we can’t go back, Koushi. It’s not fair on you, or me come to think of it. But ... um ...”

He stopped speaking, shuffling on his feet, and then the nurse walked back in.

“Is this your lift home?” she asked. “Only, I need to clean this again, and then apply another bandage.”

“I could wait outside,” Tooru offered.

Suga smiled and shook his head. “Come and sit down. You can hold my other hand.”

“Are you _friends_?” the nurse asked, sounding a little curious.

“Best friends,” they both replied together.

“And rivals,” Tooru pronounced, and with a grin he began to go through the events of the competition. “Koushi, here, baked absolutely perfect biscuits, but my sponge was a masterpiece.”

The nurse listened, winding the gauze around Suga’s wrist inordinately slowly, as Tooru carried on with the story, stopping for breath only when Suga chimed in.

“Akino was a love. I must buy him coffee some time.”

“But who won?” asked the nurse. She ripped up some tape, placing it on the bandage.

“Hmm, is that important?” Tooru asked. “Surely the main thing is that we came together in a time of crisis. Our sensei’s always telling us that cooking is a leveller and also a wonderful thing to share in the community.  So, quite frankly, I don’t think the result is at all –”

_________________

 

“I can bear it if Akino wins,” Daichi said. “His gingerbread house was good, right?”

“It was actually a gingerbread kitchen, and all his gingerbread people were cooks. He gave Tooru flicky hair, Aime a long braid, and iced glasses on the gingerbread sensei.” He grinned. “He even gave me a tiny mole.”

“Did he win?”

“Alas, no. He’d been last in the technical.”

“Fuck, it was Aime, wasn’t it!” Daichi groaned. “Ugh, I knew her killer cheesecake would be good. Why didn’t Oikawa squash her raspberries?”

“Because he’s a good sport, and it wouldn’t have occurred to him to –” Suga laughed. “Okay, it might have occurred to him, but he’d never have carried it through. Sabotage is not his style.”

 

_________________

 

Tooru had been quite driving home. The roads were busy, but normally he’d have chatted. Yet coming back from the hospital, he turned the radio on, letting it bridge the silence.  As he rounded a corner, Suga realised he was driving back to the college and not the student flat he rented.  He glanced in his mirror, then back at Suga.

“How are you?”

“Swimmy from all the drugs they gave me,” Suga replied, his head woozy. He focused his attention on Tooru, wanting to thank him for everything, but then the collar of his shirt gaped again, revealing the pink mark.

“Good night, was it?”

“Hmm?” Tooru kept his eyes on the road ahead, slowing as the car in front applied its brakes.

“It’s okay,” Suga replied.  “I’m not going to mind if you see someone.” He sniffed a bit, realising that actually it didn’t hurt _too_ much that Tooru had found someone else. At least they had _this._

“You mean Henri? I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not since that awful party!”

“No, I meant ... um ... I heard you’d spent the night with someone. A ...” he coughed. “A girl.”

Tooru burst into laughter, an actual tear fell down his cheek and when he spoke again, it was punctuated by sharp giggles. “Girl?  Oh ... my ... word. Sugawara Koushi ... what on earth ... I don’t even know ... what I’d do with a girl.”

“But Aime said-” he shut his mouth immediately, but Tooru had heard him.

“I think someone has been playing mind games,” he said, now serious. “Why on earth would you believe _her?_ ”

“Well ... um ...” Suga inhaled, wondering how to phrase it. “Tooru, you do ... um ... there’s something ... uh ... on ... um ...”

“What?  Spit it out, Koushi, before I die of anticipation and you of guilt for driving me there.”

“Your neck,” he said gruffly. “You have a hickey.”

“I do not!”

“Tooru, it’s there. I can see it,” Suga replied, and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “I told you I don’t mind.”

“Oh... that.”

And now Tooru was flushing and his customary cool was dissipating in the early evening air.

“You can talk to me,” Suga continued. “I’m not going to get upset.”

“It’s ...” Tooru gnawed his lips. “It’s curling tongs, all right! My hair was looking awful this morning and I needed to straighten it out!”

“Whaaaaaaat?”

A laugh bubbled inside of him. Tooru, Fabulous Personage with Amazing Hair, and for the past year he’d known him, and the eight months they’d dated, Suga had never suspected. He’d assumed Tooru’s hair fell like that through luck and will power, never suspecting artificial aids.

“Don’t laugh!” Tooru howled.

“But you’re supposed to use them on your hair, not your skin, you dumbass.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who bashed his own thumb with a rolling pin!” He tossed his head, then took the next left through the college gates and pulled up in the car park. Opening his door, he walked around to the passenger seat, and helped Suga out, then murmured, “How such a klutz won Bake Off, I have no idea.”

“WHAT?” Suga swayed again, excitement and heavy duty painkillers clearly not a good idea. “How did I... what do you mean ... Tooru, don’t lie to me. I can’t have won!”

“You did. A clear winner, according to Take-chan. The sponge was rich and moist, the consistency perfect, and the ganache was out of this world.”

“But you made that!”

“Under your instructions. Plus you’d done well enough on the other challenges to beat the others.”

“Except you.” Suga stopped walking. “Tooru, what happened to your mille feuille? There’s nothing in this world that can beat them.”

“Ah, well. It appears I wasn’t quite as finished as I thought.”

“Huh?”

“Silly me forgot the icing. They’re not mille feuille without that feather pattern. A sprinkle of icing sugar really doesn’t cut it,” Tooru said airily. He had his hands in his pockets, and the collar of his jacket turned up to hide his face, a face that was now a very pretty shade of pink.

 “Are you seriously telling me that you forgot? They’re your signature dish, Tooru, you’ve made them –”

“Hmm, well we all have our off days, even someone as wonderful as me.”

Suga stuck out his good hand, burrowed it into Tooru’s pocket and clasped him tight. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know, but what can you do now? It’s done.” He squeezed Suga’s hand, pulling him closer.  “I’ve missed you, Koushi, missed this, missed us, so very much.”

“Tooru...”

“We can’t go back, but we can still be friends, and I’ll work on that, all right.” He swallowed. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

The wind picked up, swirling a flurry of leaves around them. Suga raised his injured hand to Tooru’s hair, and gently brushed a cherry blossom petal away. “I adore you.”

_________________

 “Are you crying, Dai-chan?”

“No, I’m bloody not!” Daichi protested, and twisted away from Suga. “Allergies, that’s all.”

“Sure.” With a smirk, Suga got up and wandered off to the kitchen. Soon Daichi could hear clattering, the sure sign Suga was about to cook, not just cook but bake.

And for a moment, he wondered what would have happened if Suga and Oikawa had given their relationship another go. Perhaps they’d have made it a second time and been curled up together in perpetual happiness.

But it was only a moment, transitory and fleeting, for Daichi was not a man who lived in the past. What was important was the present, and by extension the future.

Their future.

“What are you making?” he called out.

“New recipe,” Suga called back.

“Which is?”

“Egg- free Sachertorte. You’re going to adore it.”

“No, I’ll love it,” Daichi replied. “Like I love you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and the obligatory FRIENDS reference was for Noemi.


End file.
